


Spare Me

by Goanna_Blue



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Echofell!Sans - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Issues, Figuring shit out, Fluff, Gaster!Sans - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Sad, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Skele, Vent Piece
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goanna_Blue/pseuds/Goanna_Blue
Summary: Days spent fishing along the riverside were long gone, like you were supposed to be.He should just stay away.





	Spare Me

**Author's Note:**

> !!!WARNING!!! TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND ATTEMPTS.  
> So I made this a while back as a vent piece, and i just couldn't get this idea out of my head with Echofell Sans being outwardly intimidating and hostile but gentle and soothing with someone who he cares about and really needs help. And PSA, I am FINE. Might make this into a full story but I'm not sure, enjoy the sadness! :)

 

It was cold, the perfect kind of cold. As in… cold enough to make you feel numb. Cold enough to restrict everyone’s field of vision to the edges of their coat hoods. Cold enough to hurry their steps to the nearest source of warmth.

 

Cold enough to make sure no one cared where you were going. Not that they would care anyway. You didn’t need anyone trying to stop you, not when you had tried so hard to keep everyone off of your tail. It was better this way, easier. Cleaner.

 

Snow fell lightly around you, as if it were afraid of upsetting you, as if it were trying to be gentle. It was a sweet sentiment, but a little too late. Besides, it was just as cold when it fell slowly. It had been falling since early that morning, and it had now amassed in swaths across the narrow city sidewalks. Your tennis shoes were miserably soaked through. Fitting.

 

The pillars of Mehaffy Bridge began to come into view through the dark and sleet, and despite the fact that this was perhaps your hundredth visit in the past month, the sight still brought a sense of dread. A familiar but disquieting unease. Your steps remained the same, you usually slowed down, hesitated, but tonight was a little different, you knew that. You had prepared for that.

 

Everything was in order.

 

At a certain point it registered that you had started crying, without being discernibly sad. Your breath remained even, however,  hands stuffed firmly in your pockets. Nothing was left to be done, nothing was left to be felt. Everything was taken care of. Your job was done.

 

_ No one needed you anymore. _

 

The bridge was on a quieter side of town, more or less linking the city to the rest to the small mountain range that contained it. Nothing could be seen at the moment, but the sight of the tallest peak, Mt. Marten, used to bring you such joy and excitement. But you never had the energy to go hiking anymore, you hadn’t had the energy for many months now. 

 

The river was quieter now, not frozen over, just low-rolling. And most certainly cold. In your younger years this had been your favorite fishing spot. You weren’t half bad, either, at least according to your dad.

 

_ But he was long gone. _

 

Tears came quicker suddenly, as your steps reached the bridge itself. You had tried not to feel sad, sadness came with guilt, and regret. You didn’t  _ need  _ to feel sad, you needed it to be  **_over_ ** . You needed to be  **_gone_ ** .

 

_ Tired _

 

Your face and feet burned from the cold.

 

_ Hopeless _

 

You kept going, feet slipping slightly on the icy concrete.

 

_ Lonely _

 

Your breath began to pick up, you needed to get there.

 

_ Useless _

 

You vaguely registered a man sitting at the first lookout, you would use the next one.

 

**_Numb_ **

 

Your body hit the rails harder than he expected, breath burning in your lungs as you gasped and hiccuped, tears beginning to freeze as fast as they fell. You were shaking, legs threatening not to carry you to your final goal. You felt nauseous. Quiet noises fell from your lips, some resembled sobs, some resembled words. Words like ‘sorry’ and ‘now’ and ‘tired’. 

 

Looking over the edge as you always did, a resolution finally came to you, this would be the last time. This would be the last time you came here with the intention of ending your life. This would be the last time you would leave your dog at Dixie’s house for a “sleepover”. This would be the last time you asked to work three days in a row so that eventually someone would  _ have  _ to go to your house and find your notes.

 

Notes that you had written and rewritten a thousand times.

 

You needed to stop crying, it wouldn’t change anything anymore. Tears had stopped meaning anything a long time ago. The sadness and the tiredness blended together until everything was a pointless, miserable mess. The cold water was sounding more promising, the silence beckoning you. 

 

The silence that was suddenly broken.

 

“i sure hope yer not plannin’ on taking a swim there, pal.” a deep voice rocked through the frigid air. You whipped around, nearly slipping on your unsteady legs. Bracing yourself on the rails, you noticed the same figure that you had passed before, sitting on the lookout bench with a cigarette perched in his mouth. You vaguely registered a bony, clawed  hand reaching up to remove it. 

 

It was quiet again, but this time your mind was firing with questions, primarily that of  _ who the hell  is this guy?  _ His face was partially hidden by a fuzzy hood, and besides his hand, you could make out a faintly glowing red iris, making you fairly certain he was a monster. How on earth had you not heard him approach? He spoke again, his voice calm and entrancing.

 

“there’s better things to be doin’ ya know.” You remained neutral, he pressed on. “it’s about the right time of year fer a hot chocolate wouldn’t ya say? ‘sa good spot for ‘em down the way just a little.” His voice was steady, soothing. You began to cry once again, frustration and desperation beginning to shake your whole being.

 

“Please don’t…” you murmured, not quite sure as to the reason. You wanted him to continue, you wanted to hear his voice again. But this wasn’t supposed to happen, you were supposed to be  _ gone  _ by now. It was supposed to be  **_over_ ** . 

 

“hope yer being careful out here, all that ice is  _ snow  _ joke.” He tilted his head up, revealing an undeniably skeletal face, complete with a tentative, sharp-toothed smile. He took another drag on his cig. “how ‘bout you take a couple steps away from the edge there, darlin’.” He sat forward just a little, as if trying to show you that he was serious. Tears came a little quicker. You took a step.

 

Stupid,  _ stupid.  _ Fuck. You couldn't even do  _ this _ right. Why couldn’t the world just let you die? Why was he here? Was it all some sick joke? Why did he care? The monster stood slowly, as though trying not to scare you. You could just turn, you could just turn and jump  _ right now- _

 

“just a couple more, please?” Damn it. God fucking damn it. Sobs clawed their way up through your throat, legs shaking profoundly as you took two tremulous steps forward. You couldn’t help the ugly noises that started to escape you as he took two steps of his own. 

 

_ Please stop _

 

_ I’m not worth it _

 

You wanted to speak, tell him he was pointless. Everything, not just saving you. He should go. 

 

“i’m not going anywhere. one more, you can do it.” Apparently you had gotten some words out after all. He had abandoned his cigarette now, one hand half resting in his coat pocket, the other hanging at his side, twitching slightly. You looked up at him, vision foggy through tears. He was tall, and all things considered, fairly intimidating, but you weren’t afraid, not in the slightest. You took another step, and another. You were directly in front of him, close enough to feel that he was unnaturally warm. Close enough to see his free hand reach toward you ever so slightly. 

 

“Why do you care?” you whispered, voice weak and gravelly. Your whole body was shaking, this was too much, the sadness was back with an unwelcome force. It washed over you like the ocean, flushing out the sands of complacency and despair. You couldn’t handle it. It was  _ so much. _

 

You had almost died, you had almost  _ killed yourself. _

 

“because whether you believe it or not, you got a life to live.”

 

You fell forward, knees buckling, the sheer force of your tears sapping the last of your energy. He caught you as you fell, lifting you from the snow with no effort at all. Some part of your brain registered that you were now sobbing on a stranger's shoulder at twelve o’clock at night in the middle of January, but you couldn’t care less. He moved to sit on the bench you had first seen him in, still attached to your bawling form. But he didn’t try to remove you, he just sat with you, occasionally humming and running a skeletal clawed hand hesitantly down your back. He was warm, and you could make out a faint, low hum from underneath his leather jacket.

 

You didn’t deserve this.

 

“yer gonna be just fine, darlin’. i promise.”

 

…

 

You believed him. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated :)


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